Triangles (28 page)

and that good shall prevail,

disregarding completely the

variables

that allow evil to take root,

533/881

sprout. Branch out. Flower.

Andrea

FLOWERING

In a protected alcove just outside

my front door is a magnolia tree.

Everyone said it was impossible

to keep my tree alive. That one

hard-frosting winter would take

it out, right down to the roots.

That it would never grow. Never

flourish. Never, ever gift me with

its luscious fragrance. But we—

that tree and I—have proved ’em

wrong. It takes a lot of work: piling compost around its slender trunk

as autumn claims its leaves.

Blanketing its naked head when ice

and snow threaten. Uncovering it

when faux spring days deny winter’s embrace, and when late-season clouds march toward us, covering it again.

535/881

Maybe it’s the super-tree strength

of one special magnolia. Maybe it’s all on me. But yes, we proved ’em wrong.

SYNERGY

That’s what we have, my magnolia

and me, and when I think about it,

I have to wonder if all relationships can be maintained and, more, made

to flourish, with the right combination of synergy and energy. All around me, I see them in various stages of meltdown: My parents’. My sister’s. My best friend’s.

Can they be salvaged with enough energy?

Lacking proper synergy, should they be?

When I consider how many years and

tears I invested in my own failing marriage, only to have it crumble because Steve and I had zero synergy except hormonal, the weight is suffocating. So why would I dare take a chance on believing there might be a future for Robin and me, totally on the strength of three days of great synergy, 537/881

most of it involving food, wine, and sex?

Call me an optimist. Or just call me crazy.

CRAZY

Because as of tomorrow, Rumble

from Down Under, with Robin

firmly at their helm, return to

Las Vegas, their home ground.

You might think that would be Sydney or Melbourne, but apparently American women are more into male strippers

than Aussie women are. Or at least

they tip better. And one of the major Vegas casinos is happy to ante up

regular male-stripper salaries to keep those women coming in to eat, drink, and play slot machines on their way to the showroom. From the start,

Robin made it clear that Reno was

a temporary gig. But, hey, Tahoe

was just a date. One that turned

into delectable sex. So when he asked to see me again, uh, was I going

to say no? The third time was

the talisman that made me want

to believe in magic again. So, yeah.

539/881

I know I’m crazy. But Vegas isn’t so far away. A lot closer than Sydney.

SO TONIGHT

I’m cooking him dinner—the way

to a man’s heart and all. And he will meet Harley, a very big step for both of them. I have never introduced her to one of my post-Steve relationships.

They have never felt permanent enough.

This one doesn’t exactly feel that way, either. But it’s the closest I’ve come, and maybe it’s good for her to realize my life isn’t over because her father and I split up. He has moved on. Why shouldn’t I? “Thanks for helping with the apples.” She peels them carefully, trying not to take too much fruit along with

the skin.
No problem.
It’s the most she’s said since I invited her participation.

I think she wants to talk about Robin but isn’t sure how. Guess I’ll have to start. “You’ll like Robin. He’s from Australia, so he has a really brilliant accent. Plus, he’s cute. And funny …” Her knife action speeds up, then slows.

She starts to say something. Shakes 541/881

her head. “What? Talk to me, Harl.”
IT’S A VERY LONG FEW SECONDS

Before she finds her voice.

Finally, she spits it out,
I just never
thought about you falling in love.

“Whoa, now, wait a minute.

I never said anything about love.”

I know. But since you met him,

you’re … different. Happier, I guess.

“And that’s a bad thing … how?

You don’t want me to be happy?”

I want you to be happy because

of me. Not him. Not anyone else.

The knife begins to tremble. I go

to her, steady her hand with mine.

“Harley, you totally make me happy.

Well, except when I see you crushing on Chad …,” I try. But the joke fails to make her smile. “Look, you know

how you feel when Chad smiles at

543/881

you? Every woman wants to feel that way. Being a mom doesn’t change

that, not even when you’re the mom

of the best kid in the universe.

Anyway, I’m just having fun with

Robin. We’re not getting married

or anything like that. You know?”

Still, the smile eludes her.
Not now,
you’re not. But that might change.

Irritation prickles. This is just dinner.

We’re not moving in together. “Harley, how come it doesn’t piss you off that your dad found someone new?”

I never expected anything different
from Dad. He’s got personality flaws.

Total crackup! “Ha!” I spit. “Ain’t it the truth? Ain’t it the truth?”

She’s laughing too, thank God.

“Honey, don’t worry, okay? Robin

and I have only gone out a few times.

544/881

He’s leaving for Vegas tomorrow.

It’s a friendship, not a commitment.

I just wanted him to meet the girl

who will always be my top priority.

Let him see why I love you, okay?”

THE APPLES

Are peeled, sliced, and simmering

toward sauce before Harley asks,

Did you ever love Dad? I mean,

were the two of you really in love?

I expected the question long before this and have dreaded the discussion.

“I definitely thought so once. But

young love doesn’t always last.”

But it does sometimes, right? I mean,
look at Brianna’s mom and dad.

They’ve been together, like, forever,
and…
Anxiety edges her voice.

This narrow splinter of me wants

to pop her bubble. But for what

purpose? It will happen soon

enough. “Sometimes, it does.”

Have you ever been in love with
anyone besides Dad?
When I tell her not really, she nails me.

Then why did you get divorced?

I’ve answered this question one

hundred different ways. But

546/881

ultimately, it came down to,

“Sometimes love isn’t enough.”

THE EVENING

Goes better than I hoped for.

Harley is completely charming.

Ditto Robin. The two joke and

discuss current events. At one

point, Robin looks at me.

Bright kid you’ve got here.

Then he winks at Harley.

Your mom takes after you.

The pork roast is juicy, hints

at the sage and garlic rub.

And when I tell Robin

he can thank Harley for

the applesauce, he smiles at

her.
Beauty, brains, and

a fabulous chef too? Where

have you been all my life?

After dessert, Harley vanishes

into her room. Robin glances

at me, but I cannot see a way

to engage in a lust-soaked

goodbye, so we settle for

several desire-laced kisses.

548/881

God,
he says,
I’m really
going to miss you. But

we’ll see each other again

before too very long.
When I ask him if he promises,

he crosses his heart.
Promise.

MEANWHILE

It’s back to

the same ol’ grind.

The routine I have no choice but to adhere to.

Up early.

(Mostly) organic breakfast.

Dropping Harley at her summer program.

Work.

(Diverting) Vern’s flirtation.

Fixing other people’s problems, and lots of them.

Home.

(When possible) avoiding Steve.

Striving to be a good friend and better mom.

Dinner.

(Necessarily) watching TV with Harley before making her shower, scrub teeth, go to bed.

Nothing new.

It’s all the same as it was before, with one big exception. I can’t stop obsessing about Robin.

On a whim,

I call him. Just to say hello, that I miss him. His phone rings. Rings again. I’m about to hang 550/881

up when I hear,

Hello?
A woman. Not quite awake.

I ask for Robin.
Sorry, love,
she says.
He’s sleeping.

NOT QUITE AWAKE

That perfect state of being:

not here, exactly; not there,

completely. The beautiful,

horrible, lovely, awful place

where

what is and what might be

collide, merge. Create

alternative realities where

nothing is believable and

anything

locked inside imagination

is well within your grasp if only

you stretch a little taller. Shrink a little smaller. The key

is

on the table. At the bottom

of the rabbit hole, behind

the looking glass, whatever

your obsession is

possible.

Holly

YOU CAN’T OUTRUN OBSESSION

For quite some time, running

was my obsession—my major

fixation, anyway. It was a way

to gain control. Claim power.

The problem with power is

knowing what to do with it

once you finally get it. Some

people go a little crazy. Count

me one of them. Today, I’m

running along the Truckee River

bike path. I needed new scenery.

Something to make me forget

about the bog I’ve totally been

sucked into. Namely, falling—no,

smashing myself face-first—in

love with Bryan. It was supposed

to be fun. Innocent flirtation.

A little sex on the side, maybe.

It was
never
supposed to turn 553/881

into this all-encompassing need

to be with him. To hear his voice.

Return his kiss. Feel the heat

of him on me. Around me. Over

me. Inside me, where I absorb him.

I KNOW

Loving him is more than wrong.

It’s impossible. But I am snared.

We both have “others” who need

us. Others whom we are committed

to. And yet, we look to escape

our others. Search for hours away

from them, holding tight to what’s

right about us, midst the sin of us.

Early morning on the river, the air lifts, cool, though it will be ungodly warm come noon. I am surprised

to find myself approaching a couple, standing at the railing overlooking the rapids. They are younger—maybe

in their late twenties—and even from fifty yards away, everything about

the way they touch tells me they are insanely in love. I don’t want to look 555/881

like a voyeur, but I slow, savoring the interaction—connection oblivious to outside observation. Lost in each other, neither takes the slightest note of me. But I’m watching them—how

his hands never leave her sinewy body.

How her eyes never leave his striking face. Such beauty in youth! I will never be that young again, and while

I may be as beautiful as she, every day brings me closer to old, and what